


Shattered Glass, Put Back Together

by 8311



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Eventual Smut, Exes to Lovers, F/M, Felix Hugo Fraldarius Being an Idiot, Felix Hugo Fraldarius is Bad at Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Mental Health Issues, My Unit | Byleth Has Emotions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-25 23:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30097116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8311/pseuds/8311
Summary: Felix leaves suddenly, blindsiding Byleth and everyone around them. Then, Felix comes back suddenly, blindsiding Byleth and everyone around them.A story exploring mental health, love, friendship, and rebuilding it all from the ground up.According to Byleth Eisner, for all intents and purposes, the world ended four hundred and six days ago. This stupid, goddess-damned world had shattered into hundreds of jagged glass pieces that still randomly stuck themselves into the soles of her feet, even though she had convinced herself that she had picked things up and put them back together without a hitch.And this,this, wasn’t like a tiny piece of broken vase on the floor of her bedroom. No. This was a full-fucking-blown shard of window just floating in that cup of tea Mercedes had just poured for her. That could be the only explanation for why it felt like her throat had closed up around itself.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

According to Byleth Eisner, for all intents and purposes, the world ended four hundred and six days ago. This stupid, goddess-damned world had shattered into hundreds of jagged glass pieces that still randomly stuck themselves into the soles of her feet, even though she had convinced herself that she had picked things up and put them back together without a hitch.

And this, _this_ , wasn’t like a tiny piece of broken vase on the floor of her bedroom. No. This was a full-fucking-blown shard of window just floating in that cup of tea Mercedes had just poured for her. That could be the only explanation for why it felt like her throat had closed up around itself. 

\- - -

“Sorry I’m late!” Annette ran into the room without a knock, bouncing on her heels, almost skidding in excitement.

“Look where you’re going, Annie.” Mercedes voice was calm. A steady hand poured steaming chamomile from a teapot into the empty cups on the table in the middle of Dorothea’s room. 

Three hundred and ninety nine days ago, Byleth, Dorothea, Annette, and Mercedes had started a tradition of weekly Saturday post-dinner tea dates. 

_“Nothing is off-limits here, Professor.” Dorothea had chided her gently, noting the desperate blankness that had taken root in her eyes over the previous week. “You can’t keep bottling things up. We’re here to help you put the pieces of your heart back together. The same way you’ve always been here for us.”_

Annette sat down, almost bursting. “You’ll never guess what!” she didn’t give them a chance to respond. “I ran into someone at the entrance to the monastery. Not just any someone!” She leaned forward. “A knight who had just gotten back from fighting Demonic Beasts out in the wilds. And he told me - he told me that they were joined by a man who single-handedly took down two of the beasts himself. Black hair. Sword like lightning. Heading to the monastery.” Her voice lowered into a dramatic whisper. “This can only mean one thing. He’s back. Fe’s back.”

Two pairs of soft eyes widened, hiding looks of surprise as they turned to Byleth. Mercedes reached out and placed a hand on one of Byleth’s own. 

The Archbishop’s previously neutral - almost calm - expression had twisted itself into an unrecognizable imitation of feigned indifference. A mangled beast of hope and heartbreak and excitement and anger rose within her as she brought the teacup to her lips, hoping the scald of the burning liquid on her tongue would melt away the lump in her throat. 

Annette clapped a hand to her mouth, as if willing the words that spilled out of it back inside. “Oh, Goddess. Professor, please - I’m sorry - I was just so excited - so worried about him - I didn’t think about -”

“No. No, Annette. It’s fine.” Byleth’s hands shook as she set her tea back onto the table. She tried to form a reassuring smile on her face. “You’re allowed to be excited. We haven’t seen Felix since-” _he left us, four hundred and six days ago_ “-a while. It’s good to know he’s okay.”

She wasn’t lying. A part of her felt a relief so incredible to just _know_ that someone had seen him. Not that he would have let himself die, but…it was a little worrying when not even Sylvain could get ahold of him. 

She looked around at the others. Dorothea’s brow was furrowed, and Mercedes frowned gently.

“Do you want to be alone, By?” Dorothea had given her the nickname after the war was over. _Archbishop seems too stuffy, and you’re more than just my Professor. You’re my best friend._

Mercedes gave a hum, nodding as if echoing the songstress’ question. “You can tell us anything, you know. But we also know that you like to be alone.”

Annette was still wide-eyed, almost teary, but she also nodded. “I can bring you food to your room later.” 

Even in the dizzying wave of emotion that had already started to blur her thoughts, she could not help but feel undeserving of the love her friends shared with her. “Thank you. I think I need to go back to my quarters for a bit. Please, don’t worry about me.”

“By, we’re always worried about you. But we will leave you be, to think. But not for too long. No wallowing.” Dorothea's smile was full of trust and care, and she laughed slightly. "Shoo." 

\- - -

She remembered leaving Dorothea’s room. She remembered starting the walk towards her own room. She did not remember when her feet rerouted her, taking her to the abandoned room that was once _theirs_. She reminded herself that if Felix were to show up at the monastery, he would need somewhere to sleep. And before this room was theirs, it was his. 

She had never taken the key to it off of her key-ring, though it had become routine to simply thumb pass it when looking for whatever it was she needed at any given moment. It felt too _final_ to get rid of it. No matter how hard she tried to get rid of the last traces of him, the small hope that squatted rent-free in the back of her head wouldn’t allow it of her. 

She inserted it into the door. A wild thought flew threw her head, the wish that the door wouldn’t open, that the key had magically stopped working, that they would just have to find a new room for him to spare the trouble. That she would never have to see the inside of this room again. That it would just be erased, gone. 

No such thing happened. The lock clicked with a familiar sound and she swung the door open on instinct, a part of her almost expecting him to be curled up in the armchair with a glass of whiskey, reading through letters or documents. She remembered how on nights she would work late, his eyes, those deep amber pools the same color as his drink, would brighten at the sight of her in the doorframe. He would leap from the chair, taking the floor in as few strides as he possibly could so he could pull her into a tight kiss, pushing her against the door as it shut, dragging his nails up her thigh and pinning her with the force of his body. 

The room was just as it had been left after she had moved all of her possessions to a new one (albiet, covered in a thick layer of dust and sadness). Meaning, no Felix. No warmth. No love.

A pair of his pajama paints were still crumpled on the floor at the foot of the bed. She liked those ones - they were soft, and she loved to slip her fingers through the waistband and pull him towards her to tease him. 

The burgundy silk sheets on the bed were still ruffled from the last time she had woken in them. She wondered if the pillow on the right side would still hold his smell after so long. She liked how he would take his hair down before bed, and it would fan across the pillow in inky black waves. If he woke up before her, she would move over to his side of the bed, because it felt like him. 

It had never been particularly strange for him to leave her asleep in the bed if she seemed exhausted. Sleepy mumbles would spill from her lips when he would pry his arms out from around her, kiss her, and scrawl a note on his desk saying that he had gone to train. 

The absolute salt-water flood of memories stung the papercuts he had left in her mind. 

A dried flower sat withered on the dining table. She remembered waking up that final morning, a Saturday, and smiling when she saw it there. Next to it was an open letter. She had thought it was strange that he left it on the dining table instead of the desk, where he usually left his morning notes for her, but she didn’t really think twice about it then. 

Some mornings, when they would wake together, she would get up onto the table and swing her legs back and forth while he brewed them coffee, humming along gruffly to a song only he could hear. She would watch his shirtless body as he bustled about with warming up the water, tracing the chiseled cords of muscle that lined his body as if he was some sort of statue. He would sometimes catch her staring, and his eyes would devour her with such intensity that she would hop off the table and drag him back into bed, coffee and water and morning routines forgotten.

She resisted the urge to walk towards the table and read the note again. She could recite all the words from memory. They had carved into her mind like some sort of perverse scar, and she couldn’t prevent her mind from reciting it each and every night, her own personal nightmarish lullaby. 

The small jewelery box he had left next to the note was unopened. She didn’t need to even guess to know what was inside, and so she never bothered touching it. The top of the box was painted a deep navy, his favorite color. The bottom of the box was a pale yellow, hers. 

But it was not like she would ever need what was in it again, so she had abandoned it too, in her attempt to erase him. 

Unbidden, a choked sob escaped from her throat. She wasn’t even sure why she had come here. If he wanted to stay in this room, he could clean it up himself. He could deal with the memories, because he oh-so obviously did not care for them the same way she did. He could read his own damned note again and again without a shred of guilt, he could sleep in that stupid fucking bed without thinking of how perfectly they fit together when they spooned. 

She shut the door and locked it behind her. 

Then, she leaned her back to it, slid down onto the ground, and started to cry. 

\- - -

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there. All time passed the same way, to her, and even with her ability to turn it back just a little, she didn’t. Divine pulse-ing away an embarrassing show of emotion wouldn’t erase it. 

Goddess, what an Archbishop she was. The most powerful person in the Church of Seiros, the woman responsible for bringing together Fodlan, adviser to King Dimitri, the woman trying to break down the barriers between countries, to bring justice to the people - the woman who sat on the floor in front of the empty room that once belonged to the man who abandoned her, crying. 

Would he spend a couple days, catch up with the others, and disappear back into the night as if nothing had changed? 

Would he even want to see her?

Did he ever think about her?

She didn’t even know if he was going to show up. If he did, she didn’t know if it would be hours from now or days from now or weeks from now. 

Felix was fast. If the knight who had seen Felix said he was on his way to Garreg Mach, he would be _on his way_ to Garreg Mach.

He could be here already.

She realized she was lying to herself.

Felix would always train late on Saturdays to give Byleth some free-time to herself.

She forced herself up to her feet, brain dizzy and knotted and full of complicated images and words she wished she could burn. 

\- - -

Felix knew without question what he would say to the others. 

Sylvain would beat him in the chest over and over again before pulling him into a teary hug. His dumbass copper-haired best friend would threaten him and remind him of their promise, that they would not die without the other. But he would forgive him. Sylvain had known his pain better than anyone else had since childhood. 

Ingrid would cry, those rare tears that made his gut drop. She would chide him and drag him to the dining hall. She would force feed him and make him tell her about everything he had seen, every adventure he had, every person he had met and their stories. 

Dimitri would be disappointed, but those ice blue eyes would betray relief at the sight of Felix. He would be set back to work immediately as Duke Fraldarius, and the Boar King would listen with deep attention to everything he would say, nodding with interest when he would draw from his new experiences.

Those he knew damned well were facts. What he didn’t know, what he couldn’t _fucking_ figure out, was how his reunion with Byleth would go. 

Sometimes, he would imagine himself apologizing. There was so much he needed to tell her, and he knew that he would beg. Perhaps he would grab her arm and ask her to _please_ listen, and he would promise to make up for everything he had done, if she would just give him a final chance. 

Sometimes, he would imagine it as passionate. He had never been good with words, but he had always been good with his body. He would take quick strides towards her and pin her to the wall and kiss her with that hunger he could never rid himself of. 

And sometimes, he would imagine silently taking her hand. They would stand there, in that comfortable silence that had always been uniquely theirs. And he would look at her, and she would look back at him, and he hoped that she would know in that heart of hers that did not beat that he always had meant to come back, come back to her. 

Would she allow him to explain himself? Perhaps. No one could listen with the same understanding as she did. But a deep part of him wanted her to walk past him and away, like the scum he was. He wanted to know that she of all people had moved on and left him behind for something better. 

\- - -

Byleth traced the familiar path from Felix’s room to the training grounds. She used to imagine that the trail was worn in slightly from his frequent trips back and forth between the two places. 

The sky was clear, and the moon was bright enough to illuminate the monastery grounds. There were never enough stars in the sky for the number of times she had wished for Felix back. And now that she had stopped wishing, finally, he had decided to make his damned way back. The lights in the sky taunted her, reminding her that even if she did find him, he would not have thought of her once when he was gone. He would not have worried for her the way she worried for him. He would not have missed her.

A pit of fear formed in the depths of her stomach as she approached the door to the training grounds. Faint grunts and thuds were audible from within, fierce noises that were more than uncommon for this time on a Saturday night. 

Hesitation pooled in the tips of her fingers as she reached to the doorknob. She shouldn’t. She should go back to her room. She should go back to bed, and when she did, this surreal dream would be over, replaced by what now constituted normalcy in her life. 

She willed herself to withdraw, but something kept her hand on the doorknob. 

She remembered the game they used to play, where they would try to sneak-attack the other while they were training, and they would have to spar until someone yielded. 

On a night not unlike this one, they had raised the stakes. Whoever won could request anything they wanted from the other. 

Felix had always been a master at the sword, but there was something extra fierce and catlike about the way he fought her that night. Alone in the training grounds, he moved faster than lightning, his feet all but silent as he finally circled her and pinned her down to the ground. 

She asked him what he wanted as his prize. 

He smirked at her deviously and left here there for a moment, on the dirt, as he made sure the door to the grounds was locked. She had scrambled back up to her feet by the time he had come back, and when he did, he placed his index finger under her chin and tilted it upwards so she was looking up at him. His smirk was uncharacteristically devious.

_I want you, Byleth. Right here. Right now._

She shook her head violently, as if it would force the memory to dissolve.

If she was quiet enough, she could leave without him noticing. Slip in and out. Convince herself that this was all a product of her overactive imagination, and that it was just Balthus or Raphael or one of the knights inside. 

And in a surge of lunacy, she opened the door. 

The noises of training sword against dummy did not stop as she took muffled steps down the shallow hallway. It could easily be anyone, it really could-

-and, apparently she was not quiet enough. 

An unmistakable blue cloak lay discarded on the ground. 

The lithe and wiry body that occupied the room turned to her with a familiar grace. Long-grown onyx waves were pinned up in a messy bun at the top of his head. Plush lips were parted slightly, melted amber eyes first narrowed and then wide as they took her in. His nose flared slightly as he took a step forwards, then backwards, then forwards again, holding his sword out so it pointed at her. 

\- - -

It was all calculated. He had made sure to figure out where the Knights of Seiros would most likely be - certainly an area that had reported a lot of Beast sightings recently. He had made sure to be at peak performance - he wanted to impress them, so they would take note of the hooded traveler that had joined them to fight. And then, finally, he had made sure to remark off-handedly that he was headed to the monastery, right before disappearing into the woods. Enough to confuse them. Enough that he knew they would make mention of him when they got back to Garreg Mach. And he knew it would reach her, because everything reached her. 

Footsteps faintly echoed in the hallway - quiet enough that Felix would not have heard them if he wasn’t straining his ears in anticipation. That was when a lightning strike of doubt struck him. He knew she could find him. He did not know if she _would_ find him.

When he turned, the lightning flashed away as quickly as it had come. 

The only thing he did not calculate was his reaction to seeing her again. 

She looked the same as she always had. Well, perhaps a bit thinner, and bags darker under her eyes than he had ever really seen before. Her hair had grown long. He wondered what it would be like to run his hands through it again. 

He could remember how soft the strands felt between his fingers and the contented noises she would make when he would massage her scalp after a long day. He hated himself for remembering. He knew he didn’t deserve to remember. 

And yet he did, he remembered her so vividly that it would sear his eyelids when he laid on the hard dirt to sleep. His memories of her would make appearances when he was fighting. When he was traveling. When he would try to fill the void in his soul by bedding men and women with sea-green hair in those no-name towns that he would stop by in for odd jobs. 

He tried not to look down at her hands. He knew she would not be wearing his ring anymore. He had never considered how that thought would twist a knife through his heart. 

The bile of self-loathing rose in his throat. She had always been too good for him. He knew she deserved better, she deserved someone who would not run, someone who had purpose in this world, someone who could look in the mirror with confidence as they supported her through each of her hardest days. Someone who could gracefully accept that infinite love she gave and those rare smiles that came with it. 

He couldn’t live on this fucking planet with the thought that she would forget him, but he wanted nothing more. He needed her to forget. He did not feel like there would be justice in the world if she did not have someone who could be there for her, someone who was more than him in every way. 

In this moment, none of his daydreams felt right. None of those felt like him, none of those had the same taste, the same _bite_ that the cool air of the monastery had tonight. 

So he did what came most naturally to him. It was what they had always done when he would return after being away. 

They would fight. 

“Spar with me.”

\- - -

_Felix._

She felt her eyes move wildly over him, haphazardly trying to take in all of his features at once as if this was some sort of last-ditch hallucination her mind had concocted to bring him back to her. Messy hair. Sharp eyes. White undershirt over the muscles of his wiry body, tight across his chest. One of the ends of his mouth had curled up into a signature scowl, and she could see his eyes make a measured up and down motion as he too, took her in. They stopped, lingering on her face. 

In an almost angry motion, her muscle memory snatched away control and took over from the part of her mind that wouldn’t stop processing the face of the man in front of her. _Idiot. He does not deserve another glance._

Without another thought, Byleth had drawn a sword from the training rack and leapt forward. She advanced as Felix instinctively guarded with a long point, the tip of his sword still pointing straight at her as she swung in an attempt to knock it sideways. Felix deflected, leaping backwards in a fade as he raised his blade again. 

One. Two. Three. 

Each hit of her sword against his was another question left unasked. 

She thought about the routine they had built together, and the weeks he would spend away from her as he served the king, and how they would reunite in this very training hall when he would arrive back to her. Before even exchanging words, they would dance this same dance - blade against blade, always culminating in frenzied hands and whispers in a shadowed corner of the room. He would comment that she seemed out of practice, and she would joke that he was the only training partner that could match her, so she didn’t bother when he was gone. Gruffly and without fail, he would let out a reluctant admittance - _I missed you, Byleth. I don’t like leaving you. Don’t make me say it again._

_Then why did you leave me? Was I not enough for you, was our life not what you wanted?_

The sounds of graceful footwork and heavy measured breathing filled the hall. Felix would offer a riposte when Byleth would parry, the retort of his sword not unlike how Byleth remembered his biting wit - surprising in its speed and edge.

Sometimes, on the nights he returned, they would stay awake almost until the dawn, side by side on the couch with her head on his shoulder and their hands clasped together like un-partable iron vices. _Come with me, next time_ , he would demand. _Maybe I will, maybe I will take a year off. And we can travel together. There is so much of the world I want to see with you_ , she would promise. 

_Where did you go? Why didn’t you ask me to come with you?_

They read each others movements as if no time had passed. Byleth had memorized everything about Felix’s body and the way it moved. Though he had honed his craft further since they had last fought, there was an undeniable familiarity to the way he lifted his arms, indicated with his eyes, and pointed his feet. They had always been in sync, ridiculously in touch since the first time they had entered battle together, many long years ago. 

The most terrible of her ghosts spoke up. 

_I'm not going to say this more than once. I want you to be my wife. Please say yes. Let's get married and stay together until we die. I love you._

She bared her teeth in a grimace as they circled each other. 

_Do you think of me, or have you found someone new? Do you tell her the same things you told me, the words that you said you would not speak again?_

Something had been rising in her from the moment they had started fighting, and as she swung her sword again, it snapped within. She cracked her training weapon against his with as much raw strength as she could draw into her arms. With both of the wooden blades bent and inelegantly splintered to the ground, just the hilt remained in her hands, and she threw it at him, hitting him squarely in the chest. 

There was a strange catharsis to the impulsive motion, a childish display of frustration and spite that she had been bottling up since he had left. They still did not speak as he dropped his own hilt to the ground in surprise. 

They watched each other. 

Felix stepped forward, his mouth forming words he did not say.

Byleth stepped backwards. _Do not get closer._

Felix stepped backwards. 

Then Byleth turned to leave. This was over. She was going to bed, and she would wake up from this idiotic dream in the morning and get on with her life. She would go back to forgetting about the very existence of Felix Hugo Fraldarius. 

Something glinted in the light, and she stopped in her tracks. While they fought, the chain he wore on his neck had emerged from under the collar of his shirt. It was thin and silver - she did not recognize the chain - but the pendant looped onto it was unmistakable. 

Her father’s voice rose in her head. _One day, I hope you’ll give this ring to someone you love as well as I love her._

That’s when she realized this was unequivocally a dream. No reality would manifest this to her. No reality would bring Felix back into her life with a ring on his necklace that she knew for a fact was in a wooden jewelery box in an abandoned room in the dormitories. And yet -

\- he still stood. He did not dissolve, he did not up and disappear the same way the Felix of her dreams usually did. 

Byleth took a step forward. And another. And another, until she was arms length from him. 

She remembered giving the ring to him. After the war was over and he had confessed his love to her, she was over the moon. And she thought she was so clever, slipping it onto his finger while they practiced brawling. In a decidedly un-Felix fashion, he had smiled playfully. _I like that I get one too. It shines like a blade._ He knocked the ring on his finger against the one on hers with a gentle clinking noise. _See. We can have our own miniature sword fights now._ It was the only time she had ever seen him make a joke so full of innocence and joy. She had held that memory to her heart when he was traveling for work and she missed him. 

She raised her hand out towards him and gingerly touched the ring with her index finger. It was real. 

“Why?” Her voice cracked with the question. 

Why did he still have it? 

If he did not love her anymore, why did he keep it?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walking Felix back to his room, Byleth remembers a different night where she had done the same. Annette drags Felix off to breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my best chapter, but I looooooved writing the first kiss scene eheheh.

The tip of Byleth’s finger gently pressed the ring into his chest - light as the touch was was, it felt though as if a burning anvil had been flung in slow motion at his body. His eyes flicked downward to her outstretched hand, noting that her nails were bitten down to stumps (a damnably annoying habit she had almost kicked before he had left). On instinct, he reached both of his hands upward to grab hers as if he was protecting it from some unseen evil. She flinched slightly at his touch, but made no motion to pull her hand away.

For a flash of a second, the touch felt alien. But it melted into something natural, something _so_ natural, that he forgot that they had ever _stopped_ touching. He was convinced that their hands had never been apart.

_Fuck._

“I understand if you do not want to see me. If you ask, I can be gone again.” He tried to keep the pleading out of his tone, forcing extra gruffness through his throat, but he could feel his voice wavering as he looked anywhere but down at her face. He finally relented, letting his eyes drift as the silence continued between them. He let himself flit down to her lips. Her inscrutable eyes stared intently at their interlocked hands. 

Finally, she slipped her hand out from inside his and met his eyes with the dragonfly-green iridescence of her own. He saw her hand shake as it reached up slightly, making it halfway to his face before floating back down to her side. 

“You can do as you please.” 

It wasn’t that her voice was cold. It was anything but, but at the same time, it placed firm feet of distance between them. It was cordially business-like and professorial, friendly without being too friendly. A forced, clinical warmth wove through it that always belied whatever she was truly thinking. 

“Our-” he noted her slip-up with an ache in his heart, “-your old room is untouched. You can sleep there. The others would love to see you for breakfast in the morning.” She very obviously omitted herself. “If you are staying for more than a day, I will send messengers to Fhirdiad and Gautier territory tomorrow letting them know of your return.” 

“Yes. If…if it’s allowed, I would like to spend some time here, while I figure out what is next for me.” _Fucking hell._ He felt discomfort beyond measure asking her for a favor, especially after all that he had done. A sense of intrusion wormed its way into his brain. What right did he have to be here?

She nodded, her face scrunched up in deep thought. He felt his breath catch in his throat as the tense angles of her expression softened slightly, though her tone remained measured. “Okay. I will make sure Sylvain, Dimitri, and Ingrid know of your arrival.” 

“Thank you. If you want, I can-”

“No, no. Let me take care of it.” She gave him that forced smile she gave to all the diplomats and visitors that would come by for meetings. “And please. Talk to Seteth about setting up some time for us to speak. I have been busy as of late, but we…I mean, I…” she paused, briefly, and he felt that he was imagining a hint of true warmth as her voice re-appeared. “We have been friends for many years, Felix. I am very curious about your travels.”

\- - -

Byleth felt like she was being controlled by a different entity as she and Felix left the training grounds. She had forgotten that they would have to walk the same way, past his room to get to hers. 

She had put a lot of meaningful effort into her words, trying to keep friendly without letting her voice betray a single ounce of the hurricane she felt. But some part of her - the impulsive, insane, absolutely _mad_ part of her decided that walking beside Felix as they went back to their rooms would be a good idea. As if she wouldn’t remember all the times they had walked back together, before. 

As if a slight part of her, an absurdly ridiculous part of her that sat gloating in the back of her mind, didn’t know that she wanted him to think about it, too. 

\- - -

It would have been a couple of months since she had woken up. 

She had been getting back into the groove of things - working closely with Dimitri as his second-in-command. She normally hid her emotions well, if something had even elicited one from her. However, the prince was incredibly frustrating to be around ( _a traumatized prick who uses condescension to deflect his issues_ , Sylvain had put it), and despite her usual inhuman patience, he had _really_ been testing her limits.

Felix had become the only person who she really felt comfortable talking to about Dimitri. There was something soothing to her about his no-nonsense presence and the intensely deep thoughtfulness and care he hid for his childhood friend (albeit under careless jabs and a facade of emotional stuntedness). 

No one else’s favorite method of talking over tea involved beating each other into the ground _before_ heading to her quarters for a cup, and honestly, that was usually just what she needed after a day of Dimitri. She felt so pent-up with annoyance and anger on that day that she had stomped up to Felix, cornering him in the dining hall before he had even finished with his meal. 

“We’re going to spar. Now.” She demanded of him, pulling his arm with uncharacteristic roughness. 

“Fucking hell, Professor. What’s gotten into you?”

“ _Your prince_ ,” she enunciated with a pointed anger as she dragged him towards the training grounds, “is being such…such a-”

“-dumbass of the highest degree? Melodramatic fuck? Self-absorbed zombie, damned by the Goddess to forever wander the halls of this fucking monastery, giving us trouble for even giving a shit about his well-being?” Felix let out a half-smile. “Unwashed and angry?”

She gave a snort of laughter at that. “I couldn’t have said it better. All of the above.” 

Byleth had built up a _lot_ of frustration over the last few days, and Felix was happy to oblige her in being the interactive training dummy she took it out on. It was rare that someone indulged him in a training session long enough to actually satiate him, and Byleth had always been his favorite person to spar with, her sheer skill with the blade teaching him something brand new, even after her years of napping at the bottom of a valley.

They had spent what must have been hours fighting in there. She was bruised and sore, almost limping as they left together, yet spirits lifted far above where they were earlier. 

Felix had quipped dryly about some mis-step one or the other had made while they tied, as usual, not one of them scoring a single victory against the other. He had noted that she actually laughed - one of those rare, _real_ , chuckles she rarely gave out. He felt a bit of pride at that.

If she remembered right, that had been the first time that they had broken the training swords - Felix had actually cracked his against the ground by trying to use it to catch himself while falling, and Byleth decided to snap hers in half with her bare hands so they would be evenly matched. They decided to switch to brawling afterward. 

“Should we go back and fix those?” Byleth asked Felix, a smile playing across her lips as they approached his room. “What a terrible commander I am. Ruining training for the others.”

Felix let out an amused burst of air through his nose as they stopped in front of the door. “Yeah, yeah. Those damned swords need replacing, anyway. They’re older than we are.” He waved a hand dismissively as his eyes flickered down conspicuously to her lips. “Anyway. Tea?”

No one else really made her feel like smiling at the end of a long day in the same way that he did, and there was this strange sort of excited nervousness that had started to appear when he would stare at her with his measured eyes and curl his mouth into a smirk, a completely alien feeling that she had a lot of trouble parsing. 

She had mentioned it to Dorothea, who failed at hiding a violent fit of giggles behind a delicate hand. 

_”Professor, I know you’re new to this whole emotion thing, but I think it’s absolutely adorable that you described a crush as ‘I thought people calling him handsome was just an exaggeration’ and ‘my stomach feels weird even when we’re drinking tea together’ and ‘he’s the only person who I enjoy beating up’ and ‘he stares at my mouth a lot’._

_The songstress fluttered her eyelashes and handed Byleth another biscuit to dip into her tea._

_“Do you know why he stares at your mouth, Professor? Aside from the fact that you might have the most beautiful lips of any woman at this monastery, of course.” Dorothea tossed her curls back as she laughed and took a sip from her cup._

_Byleth shook her head then took a nibble of the biscuit. “No idea.”_

_“He wants to kiss you, dummy.”_

So, sure, turns out, she had a crush on her long-time friend, her favorite former student, and the man she had met up with at the Goddess Tower the night of the ball so many years ago. And after talking to Dorothea, and realizing that he might, he just _might_ want to kiss her the way she thought about kissing him each night before she fell asleep, she was a little extra nervous today, butterflies that she had never felt before beating at her insides as she nodded. 

“Yeah. Tea would be lovely.”

So he opened his door and let her inside first before shutting it behind them and busying himself with preparations. 

A snap of his fingers ignited magical flame to boil the water, and he turned to her with a wooden box with different little compartments filled with fragrant leaves. 

“Tell me what you’re feeling. I’ll brew it.”

“Four-spice blend, please.”

He grunted. “You always pick that one. I should have guessed.”

She always picked that one because she knew it was his favorite. One of the things she made sure to learn about all of her students when she was teaching. His was one of the few that stuck in her head. 

Normally, once they had decided on what to drink, she would sit down at the table in the middle of the room and observe whatever battle documentation or sword diagrams or maps he had laid out for himself. Today, though, she remained standing, and edged closer to him while trying to not get in the way.

“You’re standing.” He observed, gruffly. 

“I am.” She let out a lopsided grin. “Good observing.”

“You normally sit.” He ignored her quip. “I’m going to assume something is wrong.”

“No. It’s not that something is _wrong…_ ” She took a step towards him, a normal movement that for some reason felt so foreign and high-stakes to her in the moment. 

“Spit it out.” He brought the teapot over to the table, but made no moves himself to sit down. 

She looked up into the clear amber of his eyes, making sure he was paying attention to her, then let her eyes wander to his lips as she built up courage. They were a little chapped, but they were so soft looking. Kissable. Biteable. Was Dorothea wrong? Was she just crazy, would he even-

The perfect lips of Felix Hugo Fraldarius curled into a smirk. “I see.” 

He crossed the distance between them and put his hands on her hips, pulling her flush to him in a confident motion. He brought his face close to hers, barely an inch between them as his eyes narrowed, scanning her expression. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m not.” She most certainly was. She couldn’t help but hyperfixate on the feeling of his hands, the way his fingertips dug slightly into her flesh, the firm grasp and pull. 

“You’ve never done this before.” His voice betrayed a hint of surprise. The grip of his hands became slightly more gentle as he brought one of them up to the small of her back and the other to behind her neck. He moved his lips to her ear and bit at it gently. “Kissing is a little like sparring. You’ll be good at it.” The warm breath made electricity course through her body. She could feel the warmth of arousal pool at the bottom of her stomach, a feeling she had gotten familiar with when thinking of Felix, though it was made far more intense with his touch. 

He moved back to face her. “Make the first move.” There was a hint of smugness to his tone, but his face was relaxed, concerned, kind. 

She placed her hands on his chest, spending a moment to appreciate the muscle she could feel under the layers of clothing. His eyes, the color of whiskey, had the same effect on her as a glass of the very drink would - nervousness dissipated as she drunk him in, the slight bite of his handsome features taking over her every thought as she brought her lips to his. 

She was right about his softness. She parted her lips slightly and let her tongue experimentally push at the plush padding. He bit at her lower lip with a teasing gentleness, mumbling appreciatively as she mirrored his action. 

“Mmm. I like that.” He pulled away from her and took both of her hands in his own. 

“Are we done already?” Disappointment found its way into her voice. Was he just being polite? Was she a bad kisser? Did he not want-

“Not at all.” His voice lowered slightly, darkening with playfulness as he pulled her to the couch at the other end of the room. “We’re just getting started.”

A couple hours later, Byleth left Felix’s room with swollen lips, thoroughly kissed. 

\- - -

Now, as they stood in front of his door again, she wondered what she would have said then if she knew how much things would change. 

Resisting the urge to throw her arms around him, she instead moved her hands to her pockets. She could feel an uncomfortable tension between them as they stood apart from each other, neither of them knowing how to proceed. 

“Good night.” He bowed his head towards her. 

Nodding, Byleth awkwardly shuffled her feet. How _do_ you say good night to an ex? “It’s dusty in there. No one’s cleaned it since you left. You’ll have to take care of that before you go to bed, unless you want to die of a coughing fit in your sleep.”

He let out an amused snort. “Noted.” He dug into his pockets, pulling out the well-worn old key to the room and inserting it into the lock, but not turning it. 

“Yeah.”

They stood awkwardly for another moment. 

“Well.” Felix turned the key in the lock, letting the door swing open by an inch. “I suppose I should get started on that”. 

“Good night, Felix.” His name felt dry in her mouth as she started towards her own room. _I missed you._

\- - -

Violent knocking on the door roused Felix from his sleep. 

“Feeeeeee. Feeeeelix! Open uuuuuup. Felix!” Annette’s chirpy voice yelled through his door, the thuds of her fist punctuating each word. 

He groaned loudly. “One minute.” Rolling out of the bed, he grabbed a random shirt from his still-packed travel sack and shoved his head through it. 

The impatient knocks continued. 

“I’m coming! Stop thudding. I haven’t had a drink in weeks and you’re making me feel hungover.” He took his time making it to the door, making sure nothing was laid out that would rouse her suspicion. 

He had noted while tidying up last night that Byleth had left that fucking note and jewelery box on the table, so he put them safely in a drawer of the desk. He considered burning that damned letter, but decided to keep it as a memento of his stupidity. The jewelery box seemed completely unopened. 

There were conspicuous spaces in various parts of the room where her things used to be, so he hastily kicked stuff around the floor a bit to make the room feel a little less sparse, and threw a couple articles of clothing from his bag into a corner. Maybe he could convince himself that he had been here this whole time. 

“Feeee. If you don’t open the door in 10 seconds I _will_ cast Thoron on it.”

“Sorry. Coming.” He grumbled as he turned the doorknob. 

Not even a fraction of a second had passed before he was bowled over by the force of nature that was Annette, barreling forward and attacking him with a crushing hug. 

“FELIX.” She bawled. “It’s actually you. You’re really here.” She pawed at his arms, squeezing tightly to verify that it wasn’t a dream. “Oh Goddess, I was so worried. I was so worried, Felix! You have no idea. Just running off like that.” 

The front of his shirt was already soaked in tears. He kind of deserved it. 

“You can’t do that to me again, okay? You can’t.” She pulled away from him, the mascara she had no doubt carefully applied in the morning streaking down her face with her tears. “Not again.”

He hugged her back, rightly, pressing his face into the top of her head to hide the tears that pricked the corners of his eyes. “I missed you, Annette.”

She wiped her eyes on her sleeves. “Come with me to breakfast. Everyone wants to see you. Please.”

“Sure.” He pulled away. “Let me just get a shirt that isn’t covered in makeup.”

She let out half a giggle. “You jerk. Okay. I’ll wait out here.”

She closed the door behind her and left him alone again to sort out his clothing. Pangs of guilt filled the parts of his body that weren’t sore from his fight with Byleth last night. Of course she had been worried about him. Of course she cared. She was Annette. Why in the name of Sothis’ ever-nippled tits did he think she would just forget about him? That he would be the only one wandering the lands like a ghost, missing his friends?

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr @ preetsposting.tumblr.com :)


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